


Writing the Future

by ScotlandEvander



Series: Over the Rainbow [25]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Legilimency, Occlumency, Sing-a-long, Singing, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-20 13:10:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/887658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScotlandEvander/pseuds/ScotlandEvander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Atlanta colored and nodded. “I’ll need the date to send her back to.” </p><p>“Well, she stated she was from 1992,” Dumbledore replied. “Around October. However, since she has finished her first year, and passed with flying colors, I think it best to send her back around the holidays, so there are not as many students at the school.”</p><p>“Good thinking.” </p><p>“Oh, Miss Black?”</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“I believe Mr. Lupin has returned from break early.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Writing the Future

**Disclaimer: “Yesterday” was written by Paul McCartney and John Lennon. “Over the Rainbow” music by Harold Arien and lyrics by E.Y. Harburg. After that, if you know it, I still fail to own it.**

* * *

Never in his life had Dumbledore imagined that he would be faced with two Atlanta Blacks. Luckily, Atlanta had chosen to bring Calliope Riddle—  who was in fact a younger version of Atlanta Black— to the future during Christmas break, so the castle was almost empty. 

Dumbledore had always been suspicious of what really occurred when Calliope Riddle had gone missing over the summer, a month before term began. She and Tom had vanished one evening. Tom turned up the next morning and reported Calliope missing. 

The girl who returned was not Calliope Riddle, not the girl Dumbledore had gotten to know since he had brought her to Hogwarts along with Tom. The girl who “got her memories back” was not Calliope Riddle. She was different, more like Tom. She no longer sung, no longer was the easy going, fun loving little girl Dumbledore had become fond of.

She was mini-Tom. 

Then she began changing, slowly. The last time Dumbledore had seen Calliope Riddle, she was yelling lyrics to a song she’d written over the summer at Tom in a crowded hallway. It seemed like something the old Calliope would have done, not the mini-Tom version. 

“Are you ready?” Dumbledore asked, looking at Calliope as she sat in front of him. She shifted uneasily, gripping the arms of the chair. Dumbledore knew she did not care for him, as she had the same dislike her older brother had for him. There were warring emotions in her eyes, though. She looked at Atlanta. 

“Yes.”

“I’m not going to do anything except look,” Dumbledore said, glancing up at Atlanta Black, who was standing behind Calliope’s chair, appearing uncomfortable. 

Dumbledore raised his wand and cast the spell silently. 

Diving into Calliope’s mind, he was rather surprised to find it ordered. 

No eleven-year-old ordered his or her mind in this manner, Dumbledore thought. 

Dumbledore found himself in a library. It wasn’t very large and only contained ten short aisles. He began walking up and down each aisles. He investigated the books and noted the titles were all memories, each row corresponding to however old Calliope happened to be. He touched one, and witnessed a few of her childhood memories. 

They were fake. Good fakes, but fake nonetheless. 

He went through each year and discovered her entire childhood was fake. 

He stood near the row for age ten and noticed an ornate door. He opened the door and moved into another room. It looked like the Slytherin Common room, only it was littered with boxes. He looked in the boxes, finding the memories that matched up with her time in 1943. He saw her explode out of the diary, landing on top of Tom, only she looked different. 

Calliope Riddle looked…more like how he would imagine a Black child to appear at age eleven. A Black and Lupin child. He went through the first box, which seemed to contain memories that matched up with what Dumbledore remembered of that summer. He stared at those clear amber eyes, so much like Remus Lupin’s. 

Atlanta Black had those same eyes under her glamours. 

Dumbledore made a catalogue of the other physical changes as he shifted through the pre-amnesia memories.

Her skin was darker, more golden from her time in the sun. 

Her hands weren’t as slim and fingers weren’t as long.

Her hair was a wild mess. 

The box ended rather suddenly. 

Closing the box, he moved onto the next one. It was marked Late August. He opened that and found all her memories from after she’d been returned to Hogwarts after getting “lost.” 

Dumbledore gasped when he witnessed the first memory Calliope. 

Calliope was on a couch in the Slytherin Common Room, an ugly scar on her left arm. She frowned at it, speaking with Tom, who assured her she always had that scar. Dumbledore took a closer look at the scar and realized it couldn’t have gotten there on accident.

It looked like a snake. 

Dumbledore replayed the memory, watching Tom’s face. 

Tom looked much too pleased with himself. 

Dumbledore closed the box and began looking around the room, wondering where Atlanta Black had hidden herself. While Dumbledore was pretty sure Tom had done a tabula rosa spell on the child, he had a little hope from a few times she noticed Calliope acting more like herself, or saying things that sounded a little off that her old personality and memories were still intact. After going through the boxes that littered the room, he concluded none of the boxes were Atlanta Black’s memories. 

Spotting a mirror, Dumbledore walked over to it. This mirror wasn’t actually in the Slytherin Common room. He reached out and opened it up. There was a slide, bright yellow, leading down into the darkness. He slid down. He landed on something soft and bright orange. He looked around and noticed a tiny door. Bending down, he used a gnarled finger to push it open. He peeked in and found what he assumed an eleven-year-old’s mind would look like: organized chaos. 

“Professor Dumbledore!” came a Southern sounding American accent. 

There was suddenly face in the doorway. One that looked familiar, only because Dumbledore had viewed the pre-amnesia memories. Bright amber eyes stared back at Dumbledore from under too long black-colored fringe. Dumbledore stared, taking note of just how much the child looked like a combination of Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. 

It was uncanny. 

“You found me! This is my second attempt at hiding myself from Merv. I decided the ‘M’ stood for Merv,” Atlanta Black, age eleven, announced. 

Tom Merv Riddle. Dumbledore tried hard not to laugh. 

“He’s tried to kill me twice now. But he FAILED! Granted, he got some of my memories. Like I don’t know how I got there, or what I did once I was there, but I know he’s Lord Voldemort. I figured that out. I remember that!”

“Very good, Call— Atlanta,” Dumbledore said. 

“Can I come out now?”

“No. I think you best stay in this room you’ve made here. Calliope…this is very tricky,” Dumbledore said. 

“Because I’m technically two people?”

“Yes. And if I bring down the barriers you built to shield yourself and protect yourself, you both could go insane,” Dumbledore explained. “Or loose all your memories. Both Calliope’s and yours.” 

Atlanta frowned. “I don’t want to be insane. Most people think I’m kind of insane already. Or loose any memories.”

Dumbledore hummed. “I do not know how to meld you two together, as I do not know what Tom exactly did to you. Did you mean to bleed some of your knowledge into Calliope’s memories?”

Atlanta shook her head. “No. Something happened and I woke up. I was trapped in this room. I left through that door and realized the person I was in was hurt….I don’t know what happened, but I gave her a few songs to sing. I mean, she felt kind of like me, but she didn’t look much like me.”

Dumbledore nodded, remembering that instance. It had greatly upset Tom when he stumbled upon Calliope singing. Dumbledore did not understand at the time, but now he did. Tom did not want her singing, as that was something Atlanta did, not Calliope. 

“Might as I ask when you are exactly from. When I first met you, you stated you were from fifty years in the future and exploded out of a book. I did see that memory,” Dumbledore offered. 

“Oh, I’m actually from 1992. I think…Octoberish. I don’t remember the actual date,” Atlanta admitted. “And I’m not really related to Tom Riddle. Or at least I hope not. I don’t think we ever told you that we weren’t actually related.”

“No, you did not. I thought you had told me your actual name.”

She shook her head. “No. While we were sitting in the waiting room, I realized I shouldn’t have even told Riddle my real name. Mr. Remus taught me about time travel. Never tell the future. Never tell your real name. Make things up.” 

“Mr. Lupin taught you about time travel?”

“It was a game, actually. We’d pretend— when I was really little mind ya— we’d traveled back in time and we had to figure out how to not influence the timeline.” 

“Hmmm. Well, I must go. I will look into a way to let you out,” Dumbledore said.

He waved to the child and withdrew from Calliope’s mind. She was fast asleep when Dumbledore opened his eyes. Atlanta Black, the elder, stood behind her younger body, looking alarmed. Dumbledore almost wanted to take off her glamours to compare her to the eleven year old he had just spoken to, but he refrained. He had forgotten how much of the Lupin features he had noticed and had covered up. 

“She’s asleep,” Dumbledore explained to the worried looking older girl. “I do not know how to let Atlanta Black out without causing great damage to both. Mr. Riddle did a very complex memory spell to turn her into a blank slate, then implanted memories and bound her to him. The implanted memories are tied to her blood, as is her personality and identity of Calliope Riddle.” 

“How do you know?”

“I viewed a memory. Mr. Riddle looked much too smug and she has a scar on her left arm. It was fresh.”

Atlanta fell into the chair next to her younger self and stared at him, mouth open. 

“So, there’s no way I can be, I mean, she can be who she used to be?”

“Not that I know of,” Dumbledore said. “At the moment, Mind Healing isn’t very advanced.  It will take years for anyone to figure out how to meld the two together.”

“That’s all we can do, meld them together? She’ll never be who she once was?”

“Miss Black, as we age, we change. We become new people with every new experience we have,” Dumbledore said kindly. He thought for a moment what he should say next. 

“Yeah. I guess this is something major in her life.”

“Yes. Melding the two together would be the best solution. I believe if we send her back as she is, with a little of Atlanta bleeding into her subconscious, she should be all right. I believe in fifteen years, there might be a solution to stabilize her mind.”

“She’s not stable?”

Dumbledore shook his head. “From what I witnessed, Calliope was already descending into madness. There were two instances where Tom was very upset with how she was behaving. The first instance happened over the holiday break. I heard singing. When Calliope first arrived, she loved to sing. She was very musical and had a great power behind her voice. Then, she vanished for a while, returned with no memory and did not sing any longer.”

“I don’t sing.”

“That version of you did. Often,” Dumbledore said, indicating to Calliope. “You have this power, you were never nurtured to develop it when you were young.”

Atlanta nodded, wearing Think Face. 

“One evening, I followed the noise and saw Tom having a minor freak out. He ran off, looking frightened. Tom Riddle did not usually appear frightened. Up till that point, I did not believe he could feel fear.”

Dumbledore studied Calliope Riddle. 

“Tom watched her like a hawk for weeks after that, but nothing happened from what I could tell till the last day I saw Calliope Riddle. She was shouting at him. It was familiar, what she was shouting. Before her memory loss, she had written a song. She was always humming, singing or working on this song. Then, she forgot about it. I tried to get her to remember it, but she never did. I’m very sure those were the lyrics she was shouting at Tom in the hall. The last part of the song she shouted was, ‘And his love will conquer all.’”

Atlanta furrowed her brow. 

“Tom questioned who this he was, to which Calliope replied he’d yet to meet him,” Dumbledore offered.

Atlanta Black gasped. “Oh my god. His love will conquer all…HARRY!”

She threw her hands up in the air. 

“The Harry you knew?”

“Well, it makes sense she knows him too.  God, I figured that out already? I didn’t really ever understand it. I still don’t. But, you always told Harry that it was the fact he could love and be loved that made him more powerful than Moldy Trousers,” Atlanta said. 

Dumbledore snorted at the nickname she’d given Voldemort. 

“Harry’s love will conquer. Deep. Esepcially for me. At eleven.”

“I think you are two very different people, Miss Black. The little girl I met in her head is not what I assume you were like at eleven.”

“What was she like?”

“Loud, care free, forward and full of life. Her hair was never in place, always all over the place and her fringe forever in her eyes. She was not pulled together, polished or any of the things I feel you would have been at eleven.”

“You’re right.”

“And she was always singing or humming,” Dumbledore added.

“I never did that. I like to sing, but I never had lessons. I can’t play anything,” Atlanta muttered. She got a contemplative look on her face. 

“I believe I will call Poppy to have her take Miss Riddle to the Hospital Wing. Am I right in thinking you can tweak those spells in that book I noticed lying on the floor in the Room of Requirement?”

Atlanta colored and nodded. “I’ll need the date to send her back to.” 

“Well, she stated she was from 1992,” Dumbledore replied. “Around October. However, since she has finished her first year, and passed with flying colors, I think it best to send her back around the holidays, so there are not as many students at the school.”

“Good thinking.” 

“Oh, Miss Black?”

“Yes?”

“I believe Mr. Lupin has returned from break early.”

* * *

Two days before the rest of the school was scheduled to return from winter break, Dumbledore heard a piano playing. Walking down the corridor, he entered a not often used wing that had housed music classes when Hogwarts still offered those sorts of things. It was a tragedy when there was no longer any interest in musical magic shortly before Dumbledore began teaching. It was really a lost art. 

Coming to a stop, he heard three different voices. One was mild, scratchy and clearly male. One was a child’s voice— aristocratic—  and the other was female— smooth, melodious and very American. 

“You remember that one?” Atlanta Black asked. 

“Of course. What is it?”

“‘Yesterday’ by the Beatles.”

“Beetles?”

A few chords of a tune played out on the piano. He heard a sigh.

“That is very pretty,” Calliope Riddle said. “What are the worlds?”

Dumbledore heard a bench pull out. 

“Sing and play.”

The melody played yet again. 

“ _Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away,”_ sung a rich tenor voice. _“Now it looks as though they’re here to stay, oh, I believe in yesterday. Suddenly, I’m not half the man I used to be. There’s a shadow hanging over me, oh, yesterday came suddenly.”_

The melody began to play at a higher octave. 

“ _Why she had to go, I don’t know, she wouldn’t say. I said something wrong, now I long for yesterday.”_

The singing stopped and a few notes were hit wrong. The melody played again, then again in the higher octave.

“Yes, that’s right,” Remus Lupin said, encouragement in his voice. 

The man was meant to be a professor. Dumbledore bit back a sigh. Alas, poor Remus would never be accepted as a professor. Best he could hope for was a private tutor of an open minded family. 

“What’s the next verse?”

 _“Yesterday, love was such an easy game to play. Now I need a place to hide away, oh, I believe in yesterday,”_ Remus sung. 

“Then it you repeat the why she and the verse just sung,” the elder girl offered. 

Dumbledore let his mind wander as he listened to the two play the piano. He sort of recognized the melody they were playing as a Muggle tune that had been popular a few years back. He was so lost in thoughts, he didn’t notice at first when the piano stopped. 

“Look! Oh, this is amazing.”

“What is that?” Atlanta Black asked her younger self.

“It’s a ukulele. You ought to know what it is, you’re American,” Remus joked. “They’re from Hawaii. It’s their interpretation of the machete.”

“A small guitar-like instrument that’s related to the cavaquinho, braguinha, and the rajo,” Calliope rattled off. “It’s adorable. It kind of looks almost like the guitar someone transfigured for me when I broke my nose and Riddle took me to St. Mungo’s. Or, well, I took myself and he followed.”

Dumbledore listened carefully. 

“So, er, do you know how to play, then?” Remus asked. 

Calliope answered the question by playing a tune for them. Dumbledore did not know it, but it felt familiar. 

“I love that song,” Atlanta sighed. 

“Of course you do,” Remus commented. “Isn’t that your…er, dog’s name?”

“Toto? Yes.”

“You have a dog?” Calliope asked.

“At home,” Atlanta lied. 

Atlanta had no home, other than Hogwarts. Dumbledore wondered what Remus meant by that. Maybe it was her secret Marauder name? Dumbledore was aware the other four boys all had animal like nicknames for some odd reason. 

The melody started up again. Calliope encouraged the older girl to sing. Remus began to play along on the piano (Dumbledore assumed it was Remus playing, as Atlanta had stated she had no musical talents). Suddenly, a rich, mezzo-soprano voice filled the room. Dumbledore felt the magic seep out, swirl around lightly as it escaped the room. Atlanta’s voice magic looked different from her younger self, as it was much less developed. 

It was also white, as opposed to the grey of her younger self. 

 _“Some where over the rainbow, way up high. There’s a land that I heard of, once in a lullaby,”_ the older Atlanta sung. _“Somewhere over the rain bow, skies are blue. And the dreams that you dare to dream, really do come true.”_  

Smiling to himself, Dumbledore turned and walked back in the other direction. He had a feeling, Atlanta Black would make sure Remus Lupin taught her younger self music now. 

* * *

Calliope Riddle looked browbeaten and lost. It was understandable, as she was in a state of flux, lost between Calliope Riddle and Atlanta Black. The poor child was in the mists of a major identity crisis. The last week she’d been awake and socializing with Atlanta Black and Remus Lupin had caused more of the Atlanta Black she had been to seep into her conscious mind. 

Calliope Riddle also was desperate to know what had happened to her brother. In the past week, she had found a lot. While Remus and Atlanta were in class, Calliope hid in the library, reading old newspapers, trying to find Tom Riddle, but all she found was Lord Voldemort.

“I tried to warn him,” Calliope whispered, staring out the large window in Dumbledore’s office. “The last time I saw him. I tried to warn him. I don’t think he got it.”

“I do think he understood,” Dumbledore said. “I spoke with him right after you left. He did something to himself as he stood there seething. While I have no idea what your warning meant, why you told him love would conquer all or he could rewrite time, in the days to come, he had no idea what had happened. He knew he was upset, he knew he was angry with you, but I could tell he had no idea why.”

“Did he _Oblivate_ himself?”

“No, I do not think he did.”

“Did you?”

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at her, studying her as he sat in his chair behind his desk, turned towards the window where she stood, hands clasped behind her back. Her posture and stance spoke of Tom Riddle, the boy who was no more. 

“I did not.”

Calliope cringed and turned around. “Sorry, sir. I have…warring feelings about you.”

Dumbledore extended his head in understanding. “I understand. In Tom’s case, I believe he did a…mind exercise that removed the information from his mind. Judging by the state of your own mind, I’m positive he was already studying and mastering Occlumency. He was clearly proficient at mind spells and to be, one needs a well organized mind. Calliope Riddle’s mind is organized, while Atlanta Black’s is…natural.”

Calliope’s stance changed again and she looked curious.

“So, you are saying he basically took the file marked FIGHT ABOUT THE FUTURE and threw it out?”

“In simple terms, yes.”

“So he totally missed my warning,” Calliope sighed, turning back around. She crossed her arms over her chest and hugged herself. “I didn’t understand the warning at all. It had something to do with the baby.”

“What baby?”

“I don’t know. That’s the problem. I don’t have access to all of Atlanta Black’s memories. I just have random things that bleed into my own mind. Since I do not know this Occlumency thing, but my mind it organized, I feel very confused. I guess these things do not have a place in my head to be stored, so they float around or something.”

“They have their own room,” Dumbledore offered. “I believe when you reach the your correct place in time, someone will teach you Occlumency. I believe that is the only way you will be able to be who Tom has forced you to become.”

“Calliope Wren Riddle and Atlanta Siria Black,” Calliope sighed deeply. “There is not way for me to simply revert?”

“No. You will need to organize Atlanta Black and integrate her into what Tom left you with.”

“So, I’ll have to go to St. Mungo’s?”

“Yes. I believe I will put you into a magical coma till we can get you a teacher once you return,” Dumbledore offered. “I’m afraid it’s a rare skill and you are rather…fragile if you remain awake any longer.” 

“When am I going back to 1992?”

“Soon. Miss Black is working on the spell to send you to the future. She is rather gifted with spells. Are you good at Charms?”

“Yes. Charms is easy for me,” Calliope reminded Dumbledore. “Potions is another story.” 

There was a knock on his office door. Dumbledore rose and indicated to the child to a have a seat. She crossed the room and sat down. 

“Enter.”

The door open and Atlanta walked into the room. She was holding a rather large book under her arm. 

“I’ve got it. We can send her to the future at any time,” Atlanta said, glancing at the child. 

“I want to go home,” the girl said. “I’m ready. I have bid farewell to Remus.” 

Dumbledore glanced down at Calliope. She steeled herself, standing and picking up the bag she had brought from 1943 with her. The two girls stood together and quietly discussed something. The younger girl nodded a few times. She reached out and grabbed the older girl’s hand. She looked to be assuring the older girl, who smiled gravely. The younger girl gently gripped the older girl’s right forearm and said something, then turned to Dumbledore. 

“I’m ready to go now.”

“All right. I will see you shortly then. Miss Black, are you sure you are able to do this spell on your own?”

“Yes, sir. I got her here and it was my full intention to send her back to where she belongs,” Atlanta said. 

Dumbledore inclined his head. He normally would not trust a student with a task this dangerous, but Atlanta Black was a talented witch, strong and on her way to becoming the youngest Master Spellsmith in quite some time. He was sure she could use this instant as a way to even get her mastery. 

“It was nice to see you again, Calliope. And, as I stated earlier, I will see you shortly.”

She gave him a smile and turned to Atlanta. “Thank you. I don’t know what would have wound up happening to me if you’d left me with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.” 

Atlanta made an odd movement with her head, like she was reacting to a loud noise. Her left hand jerked towards her right forearm and she closed her eye tightly. 

“You’re welcome,” Atlanta said in a tight voice. 

“I am sorry. He needed to know,” Calliope added quietly, looking sorry. “I don’t think he has willing put it together.”

“You ready, dude?” Atlanta asked, still clutching her forearm. She still looked like someone was shouting loudly in her ear. 

“I am not a dude. I’m a dudette,” the younger girl said, smiling. She pulled her school bag closer to herself and gave a kurt nod of her head, hiding her fear in a practice manner.  

Atlanta waited a moment. She lifted her wand and smiled at Calliope one last time. 

“ _Atlanta Black Erga Novedecim Nonaginta Duo Mittofurttas ad Draco.”_

The magic swelled in the room and Dumbledore felt it deep within his bones. It made his hair stand on end. Such power in someone so young. It was a strange combination of Light and Dark power. He felt that there were almost two magical beings doing the spell in front of him. He felt his long beard blow over his shoulder and his hat fall off his head. Between the light and wind, his eyes closed. When he opened them, the office was calm, Atlanta Black was panting a bit and holding onto the chair next to her and the other child was gone. 

“Well, I hope she made it,” Atlanta said, staring at the spot in front of her. “I hate Lord Voldemort. I seriously hate him.”

She jerked her head to the side, wincing again. 

“True. But, at least you understand his fascination with you now, do you not?”

The girl turned towards Dumbledore, a worn expression on her face. 

“It is not for your impressive power, that is just an added bonus. No, Tom wants his sister back,” Dumbledore replied. “The girl admitted to telling him her real name, so he knows it is you.” 

“His fake sister,” Atlanta spat. “He really turned into a monster, didn’t he?”

“He did, indeed,” Dumbledore responding, thinking it was a little strange for her to phrase it in that manner. 

“When do you think the turning point happened? At what age?”

Dumbledore thought this an odd question to ask, but decided to answer. He had an strange sense she was asking these questions not for herself, but someone else. 

“Tom was always rather dark and troubled. He never understood how to interact with other people as himself. He hid behind masks and characters he created. I believe I was the only professor to see the real Tom Riddle, as he was careful and on guard when he arrived at school. So it is hard to pin point, but, I believe after he opened the Chamber of Secrets in the spring of his fifth year and committed his first murder…” Dumbledore trailed off when he saw the odd expression on Atlanta’s face. She looked as if she was in pain or being screamed at. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, yeah. So, sixteen. The point of no return was sixteen,” she stated. “Sixteen.”

Dumbledore nodded. “No one stopped him. Mistakes were made and he traveled down a very dark path. No one now knows that Voldemort is Tom Riddle, the handsome, charming boy who used to stalk these halls.”

Atlanta raised her left hand, placing it on her right forearm. 

“Do you think, in the future, Voldemort will go after her? The other Atlanta? Er, Calliope?”

“I’m afraid he will. Just as much as he plans to go after your Harry,” Dumbledore said. 

She looked troubled. He was sure she was going to try to prevent Voldemort from meeting his goals and targeting this child named Harry, but before she said anything else, she flinched and made a flimsy excuse to leave. Since she looked unwell, Dumbledore let her go without a fuss. He would speak to her later. 

Sighing, Dumbledore rested his face in his hands. There was much work to do. He had a war to wage against Tom, research to do for a poor girl whose life Tom attempted to destroy for his own goals and a school to run. 

Maybe he ought to retire? 


End file.
